No Strollers Allowed

I needed a new post. That title was causing some Post Traumatic Stress issues.

Two weeks ago we visited the Treehouse Museum with Aunt Kylie and Cousin J. We were all very excited to go, Kylie even printed off a special coupon for M to color before we went, but they lost some serious points when Ky and I walked in with our six-month-old babies in strollers and were informed that they have a NO STROLLER POLICY. Are you KIDDING me? You're a children's museum that doesn't allow strollers ... riiiiight. We almost just turned around and walked out, but M had waited all day and was so excited that we grudgingly parked the strollers and packed the babies in.
M had so much fun exploring all of the exhibits.

Here she is advising on policy.
Vi and J hanging in the boat.

M milking the cow that really squirted water into the bucket.

And at her favorite exhibit, the Bone-Finder Station. They had a lesson on dinosaurs and fossils in preschool a few weeks ago and M has been obsessed ever since.

We didn't spend as much time as we originally had planned due to the stroller issues, and we had to rush through some stuff, but overall it was a fun trip. There was one weird/slightly awkward moment though. We went into their story-time and the stroyteller asked if anyone was visiting from out of town. M raised her hand and enthusiastically told him she was from "VEGAS!" Everyone sort of laughed, then one rather tacky woman said rather loudly, "Vegas, they must be rich." Pause ... broken by a few awkward laughs.

But whatever, it's Ogden. Ask me to tell you about the tow-truck drivers we met when the Elantra died in Ogden. Their opening line was "Sorry we're late, we was usin' the truck to pull his mom's trailer outta a mud hole." I kid you not. Brad may have given them a life-altering pep talk.